


Sugar we're going down swinging

by Lunartosolar



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Apocalypse, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 18:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21275501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunartosolar/pseuds/Lunartosolar
Summary: Unwilling doomsday prepper meets the Antichrist. Pre-apocalypse to after.





	Sugar we're going down swinging

**Author's Note:**

> My first AHS fanfiction. I've only watched Murder House, Apocalypse, and 1984. Not beta'd. And yes I know I need to update my LOTR stories. My muse is stuck :(

The world was a bleak, barren place after the bombs dropped. Those who survived the initial blast now scrambled to find cover in a nuclear wasteland. You were lucky if you died on impact. The weakest living went first. Those in hospice, intensive care, and other situations either wasted away painfully, or persuaded someone to take their lives. A majority of doctors, surgeons and nurses fled the scene, making the choice to take their chances outside versus caring for those they swore to help. The world was left to rot while those top 1% survived, nestled in top secret bunkers around the world. 

A select few of the ordinary people survived. Once made fun of with shows like Doomsday Preppers, the ones with plans for a nuclear fallout survived, rejoicing in their meticulous plans for surviving. I doubted my father for a long time, thinking he was mad, and watched too many conspiracy videos. He would sit up at night, lamenting about the state of the world and how one person would come and destroy it all, rebuilding the world in his view. 

I brushed it off. I thought he had gone off into the deep end. I ignored the stockpiles, the underground bunker deep in the earth, filled with supplies father forced me to help him stock. The final straw for my mother was the biohazard suits, equipped with gas masks powerful enough to withstand a nuclear fallout and the polluted air afterwards, with a price tag to match.

They screamed and fought for the next few weeks. I would shut my door and turn my music on full blast, trying to ignore those sounds of fighting and terrible names being thrown at each other, words like barbed wires, jagged and twisting, a bed of thorns without roses. Eventually it came to a head, with the slamming of the front door and car wheels screeching, then utter silence. I crept down the stairs to see my father standing in the driveway, his back to me, and fists clenched tight. I backed up the stairs and shut my bedroom door. Sleep was not forthcoming that night. 

The next few days were a blur. My father left, money on the table, the spare car if I needed it, and a list of items to buy for the bunker. I hadn't heard from my mom since that night she left, and uneasiness eased in. 

My father came back three days after the initial fight, wearing an odd ensemble of all black and looking as if he had a new lease on life. His attitude was startling, especially since the last time he was furious. He ignored my questions on mother, only giving a curt answer. "She's away. Now go to the car and help me unload the packages." The car was full to the brim with oddly shaped equipment, statues of goats and a large black cross. A large black box and several long thin boxes sat nestled in the middle. "Father what is this? What are these?" Why are they goat statues?" 

The only reply I got was, "We will need these when the time comes." All my following questions were ignored and I stomped behind him with the lighter items. Several silent trips later I was dismissed. 

Tense days followed. My father was a man of few words, but several one sided conversations followed. He went on and on about the savior, hellfire, a new world, a "cooperation," and most jarring of all, "The Antichrist."


End file.
